Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Was there not some sad story of a quarrel between the Campbells and the Stewarts of this neighbourhood?” asked Helen of the company in general, very much afraid of hearing her own voice, but still more afraid of losing the delight of hearing the story, whatever it might be, on the very spot where the events took place.

“Neighbourhood!” repeated Mrs Cameron, “a neighbourhood should be a place where neighbours meet as friends, and the Campbells and Stewarts never can be friends. Did not I see a bonnie bride of the house of Stewart leave her father’s house with a Campbell for her husband, and was not blood shed even on the threshold? for, as the horses started off with their white cockades, one of the lads that rode them fell from the saddle in a fit, and was trampled to death under their feet, and sickness and Borrow waited on the bride till she was at rest in her grave. There’s no peace not friendship between the Campbells and Stewarts, and they should not be called neighbours.”

“But, mother, the young lady was asking you about the quarrel,” said Dugald, “and not wishing to mend it.”

“The young lady is not angered with a foolish old wife,” answered his mother, bursting into her loudest, harshest laugh, and laying her hand kindly on Helen’s. “She will pardon me, for I was born a Stewart, and I cannot hear with patience when any talk of the natural enemies of my family. Do you tell how it fell out, Ian, for your English is better than mine,” said she, addressing her eldest son.

It should be remembered, that Gaelic being so universally spoken in the Western Highlands, English is only acquired in a degree to be spoken fluently by people of some education, and is pronounced by them with a softness and delicacy amounting to an appearance of affectation. Ian Cameron related his story deliberately, and in choice language, giving each word and idea time to take effect before it was succeeded by another.

“You will have heard that when the royal house of Stuart lost the day, the lands of many who had fought for the right were confiscated, and bestowed as rewards upon the Campbells and others who stood up for might rather than right. This estate of Glen Bogie was one of them, and with it the Campbell to whom it was given received favours and authority, which he used as you would expect from a man that was not born to it, and had got it by ill means. They that would rule over a Highlander must find their way to the heart, and must trust him as one honest man trusts another. Campbell never did that. He knew that he was not loved, nor welcome, but still there was not a man—from a Stewart to a McCall—that would have raised a hand against him, except it were in open fight.

“You will have seen the rocky peak of Skuliahams, which shuts in the head of Glennaclach, as you came up the Toberdhu; that is the stream which we call the Blackwater. Just to the right of that peak there is a pass over the hill, and for eight miles the way is rough and dreary. Often have I travelled that road by night and day, and with the snow drifting in my face I have thought never to see my own fireside again. Campbell had gone by that pass to collect rents, but he did not return when they expected him. His wife grew alarmed, for she knew the hearts of the tenants were not with him; so she sent first one, then another, of his people, and lastly she went herself to watch for them on the hill-side, whence she could see far up the glen. Singly the people crossed the hill, but they all returned together, and amongst them they carried the corpse of Campbell, who had been shot dead in the wood beyond the hills, which was on the property of a Stewart. The widow went out to meet them; but she shed no tears nor spoke a word. Some say she had been warned.

“They brought him across the meadow yonder, and carried him up into the room overhead, and the Campbells came from far and near, and vowed vengeance upon the Stewarts; and it is said that as they hung up the dead man’s plaid, all stiff with his blood, so they swore to hang up a Stewart on the spot where Campbell was found dead. There was a show of law, too; for having fixed their suspicions upon a tenant-farmer like myself, a man named Stewart, they tried him by a jury—all of Campbells—and in the wood they hanged him, within sight of six residences of Stewarts; and watch was kept, day and night, lest the body should be removed. Vengeance and law they called it, but it was murder; for before the bones of their victim had whitened on the gibbet, it was discovered that Campbell had been shot by a foreign soldier who had some private quarrel with him. Can the Stewarts and Campbells be friends after that?”

There was a pause, and the young Highlanders sat looking sternly into the glowing fire. Tramp, tramp, came, heavy steps overhead, as of several persons moving some heavy burden. Bayntun felt his heart beat faster. He would not for worlds have let any one suspect it. Even Mrs Hardy, drew involuntarily nearer to her husband, and Helen’s eyes opened wider, while the most ghastly spectre would not have burst upon her sight unexpected.

“The lassies are putting the Doctor’s room in order for your friend, Misther Hardy. Maybe he is not used to rough lodging, and it is well for him that, the Doctor being at the house of Glennaclach to-night, I can give him the room,” said Mrs Cameron.